Memories Too Dark
by Kage NoTenshi
Summary: A story from Isis' pov. Isis... it's too dark. ~ Malik
1. Memories Too Dark

I personally don't like Isis that much (let's just say I like Anzu better than I like Isis), but she's got the Ishtar connection…so therefore this fic. I wanted a look at what the siblings were like before tragedy tore apart their souls and their childhood innocence. Yu-Gi-Oh belongs to me…just like Microsoft and the Internet and all the chocolate in the world. *drool* Sugar…

-.-;

I was drifting off to sleep, comfortable in the nearly nonexistent light when I heard the soft slapping of bare feet on the stone floor. I opened my eyes to see Malik silhouetted in the dim gleam of the torch in the hall. "Isis," came his voice. "It's too dark in my room."

I groaned and rolled away.

"Isis, please," he begged.

I sighed. "Malik. You're seven years old now. You should be able to sleep in your own room."

"It's dark there…"

"It's dark here too."

"I'm all alone, Isis."

"Get Rishid. I'm sure he'll sleep on the floor in your room if you ask," I suggested.

"Isis…"

I snorted in annoyance. It always went like this, and I could never say no. With one final grumble, I sat up and let him climb into the bed. Even if I couldn't see it, I could sense the grin spreading across his face as he scrambled to his spot between the wall and me. I couldn't help but smile a little too as he settled down happily. He was an Ishtar, a bearer of that great name…and afraid of the dark. I knew he'd outgrow it eventually, but it was so cute when he came to me. It seemed he found comfort in having my steady, warm breathing on one side and the solid rock wall on the other. Sometimes he mumbled my name or Rishid's as he slept or snuffled in a quiet way that wasn't quite snoring. I didn't mind, though. As grown up as I acted because I was older than he was, I also found it comforting to be so close to one I knew cared about me. Of course, I knew that if any monster should appear suddenly from the darkness, I wouldn't be able to look to him for protection, but it was nice all the same.

This lasted until he turned ten. Then, with the burning of the marks on his back, he was bedridden for what seemed eternity. In too much pain to move much let alone get up, he left me alone until he had nearly finished healing. Even after that, he tried so hard to be the man Father wanted him to be. Only rarely did he ever come complaining about the darkness. I missed him a little when he did not come. Sometimes we had talked. I would help him on lessons he did not understand, and drill him on the things he had to memorize. He asked sometimes about the strange rod Father kept, but I could never tell him anything about it. 

Then, one fateful day, he asked to go to the outside. I was doubtful, but Rishid did not deny Malik permission. Furtively, we stepped out into the morning sun. If I had known what would come of that day, I never would have let Malik go. But I hadn't the Sennen Tauk then, and I went with him. I loved the way his eyes widened at the sight of everything, but I knew we couldn't linger long. He had just picked up a magazine with a picture of a motorcycle when someone spotted us. I never thought anyone would pick two kids on the street out as Ishtars, but this man was different. Something about him projected an aura of power. Maybe it was the large ankh around his neck. He made me angry, though. He said there would be blood for our actions and frightened Malik. He scared me too, but I hid that. We did, however, get home well before dark. 

The sight that met our eyes made my stomach jump to my throat. Dishes, sheets, and everything lay scattered over the floor. Exclamations and shouts brought us quickly to the room where we found Rishid and our father. I almost cried out at the scene that appeared before my eyes. Rishid, bound and stretched out on the floor, wore burned slashes up and down his back. His shirt was in tatters and the sweat of pain ran down his already scarred face. 

"Chichiue!" cried Malik in horror.

Father dipped the already hot knives into the brazier again. Nausea rose in my throat. He intended to kill faithful Rishid! "Next…Malik." His strong words took me by surprise. He would take my little brother away too?!

Malik's eyes filled with tears as Rishid cried out again under a new onslaught. He pleaded with Father again and again, but his words fell on deaf ears. Suddenly, he clutched his head as if in pain. I backed away as a terrible change came over him. Slowly, and then suddenly, his hair clumped together unnaturally and protruded in every direction. A glowing symbol appeared on his forehead, and his tears disappeared. Deliberately, he reached for the rod father kept. Clutching it, he brandished it, sending Father slamming against the wall without even touching him. I could do nothing but watch in shock as he withdrew the dagger from within the rod. I couldn't even scream as he killed our father, splashing his blood on the wall, on the floor, on his hands. I don't even want to describe it now. Somehow, though, I knew it wasn't Malik doing this. My thoughts were only confirmed as he advanced on Rishid. He would have killed him too, except for that Rishid murmured Malik's name. 

The crazed look of the death lust left Malik's eyes, and his hair returned to the fashion I knew. He fell to his knees covering his face. "What…" he said softly, looking at his blood-covered hands, "what have I done?? What happened?"

I had not yet found my voice, and Rishid did not want to tell either. Suddenly, Malik saw our father's limp body, still tied to its pillar. "Chichiue!!" he screamed, untying him and throwing his arms around his neck. Hot, genuine tears streamed down his face. I swallowed as I realized he remembered nothing of the last few minutes. 

Suddenly, that man from the outside was there again. 

The will of the pharaoh, that's the reason he gave Malik for what had happened. I hated that man so much I thought my heart would burst when I saw the anger and pain in my little brother's eyes. That night, he came to me for the first time in months. "Isis…" he started, his voice cracking. There was none of the usual bantering before I conceded; I heard the need for comfort all too clearly in his voice. He fell asleep not long after, but pain emanated from him the way power had from the strange man who made me angry. I drifted off at last into restless dreams haunted by my thoughts. 

Suddenly, Malik's screaming awakened me. "Chichiue! Chichiue! CHICHIUE!!!"

"Malik!" I cried out.

He sat there trembling like a mouse that has just escaped a cat. He did not respond to my words. I realized that he was still sleeping, and that he probably would have walked the house in his unconscious state had I not been in his way. Suddenly, his shivering shook his body violently and sobs wracked his thin frame. Tears poured down his cheeks, and he didn't even seem to notice it when I reached out and pulled him to me. We sat like that for a long time, until finally, the tears subsided and he raised his head. "Isis?" He looked around, disoriented for a moment. "Are you okay?" He reached up and touched my face, and I realized that I had wept too. 

"Yes," I whispered, knowing it was a lie.

"Is…is he really gone?" asked Malik, choking on his words.

I swallowed as the tears began anew. "Yes, Malik."

"Really truly?" he asked.

It broke my heart that he would find out one day what had really happened. The pain of the time being was enough, though. To hear his questions of childish denial and to feel his tears was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. I lost the last of my childhood along with the naïve concept that life could be lived without sadness. 

Even when I myself merged with the outside, things such as dueling were not the games some people saw them as. For the most part, though, I hid the scars on my soul as Malik hid the scars on his back. My wounds burned, though, as I watched him hunt down the pharaoh, and as his other presence proceeded to hunt down the pharaoh and practically everyone else. There are times when I want to draw him into my arms once more, to answer his questions and be his protector from the world. It's too late now. Never again will I hear the soft padding of bare feet and the quiet voice of the child nearby in the darkness.

"Isis…it's too dark…" 

R&R


	2. Poem

Just a poem I wrote. It's very short, only four lines, but I think it fits in well with the story, ne?

"Memories Too Dark"

Night, see the tears in a child's eyes

When fading before him are protection's lies.

Light has faded with no more to give

And death hurts most the ones who live.

R&R


End file.
